AN OILY MESS

A short story by Jolene Rice

Written for A Writters’ Shindig

Part 2

Cassandra had clients start asking for her by name. She tried to be gentle and not cause much bleeding, especially on someone’s face.

One day on her lunch break, Cassandra wandered over to the hair salon. As Cassandra watched the beautician work, one said, “I bet you’ve lost ten pounds.” The beautician showed the client a large pile of hair in the floor. It gave Cassandra an idea. She started collecting all matter from a client in a jar. After each session, she put it on a scale in front of her client and announced how much the jar weighed. Making sure the client knew how much the jar weighed before she started filling it. Mr. Daily liked it so much that he made a contest out of it.

Cassandra was good at her job and Mr. Daily noticed. After a month, she got a cot. After two months, she got new clothes. After six months she got special items like rose water for her clients to wash their faces. Mr. Daily started doing before and after photos. Even her YouTube videos got more views than the other techs.

Move

As Cassandra came out of the bathroom the smell of pizza hit her in the stomach.

“Come,” Sue patted the floor. “Join us.”

“Just a moment.” A sick feeling overtook Cassandra as she started looking for her dollar. “Where is it?” she said, more to herself than anyone. She flung her belongings onto her cot. “Where is it?” she shouted.

“Oh,” Millie sighed. “We were a dollar short on the pizza, so I borrowed yours,” she announced with pride.

“You had no right,” Cassandra shouted.

“It’s just a dollar,” Millie reported.

“That was the last dollar from the last paycheck I made from the before time.”

“The before time?” Jackson asked, raising an eyebrow.

“It was the last dollar from my old life,” Cassandra cried.

Millie sank her teeth into a slice of pizza. “Time to let that shit go.”

“That was my decision. Not yours.” Cassandra left the room.She bumped into Mr. Daily in the hall. He noticed her puffy cheeks and handed her a hanky.

“Clean, promise.”

She smiled. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

“I was looking for you.” He returned the hanky he had offered her to a different pocket, before he pulled out one to mop his head with. “How would you like to move?”

“Move?”

“Come,” he grinned. She followed him through one dingy hallway to another. They stopped in front of a dirty green door. “Come.” It was an equally small room like the one she was already in, dirty but empty of people. And it had a real bed. The only door in the room led to a small bathroom with a tub. How long had it been since she’d had a proper bath? “Your reward.” Mr. Daily smiled. “Clients love you.”

“I’ll go get my stuff.”

“Good. Good.” He blushed. “Oh, good.”

Mr. Daily did a little dance in the hall. Not noticing that Cassandra saw him. ‘Dance fat man, dance,’ she thought, smiling to herself. The image of a penguin flooded her mind again. This time it had on a top hat and was dancing with a cane.

It didn’t take long for the other techs to start treating her differently. Millie flipped her off. Down under the table where clients couldn’t see. “All over a dollar.” Millie hissed, with a downcast smile.

Each tech was busy, quietly working on a client. Soft music played in the background, filling in the space. Phyllis’s client was a young man. With each extraction, the man said, “Ouch!” or drew a sharp breath through his teeth. Phyllis ignored his wincing noises and kept working. Jackson filmed the entire session. Each time silence returned to the room the man cried out in pain. He’d give Cassandra a minute to relax and then shatter her nerves all over again.

Suddenly he screamed and started thrashing like a two-year-old in a candy store after being told he couldn’t have another lollipop. Cassandra almost poked her client in the eye.

“I’m so sorry.” Cassandra apologized.

The lady smiled at Cassandra, turned, then shouted at the man, “Idiot! What’s wrong with you?”

Mr. Daily rushed into the room, mopping his head. “What?”“Sounds like a temper tantrum to me,” Cassandra’s client reported, pointing in the man’s direction.

“What did you do?” Mr. Daily questioned Phyllis.

“She hurt me!” The man rose up off the table, blood pouring down his face.

“Phyllis!” Mr. Daily shouted.

Jackson was now sitting beside Cassandra. He had stopped recording the session with Phyllis when the man cried out. “She’s fired,” he reported. “That’s her third offense.” Before he moved to roll away, “Oh here.” He handed her a dollar.

“No, it’s okay.” Cassandra smiled. “I’m over it. Why will she get fired?”

“Phyllis will ignore client instructions.” Jackson said. “Her first offense was a woman who wanted her back done in sections. The client was on some very strong blood thinners and was afraid that she would start bleeding. The woman fell asleep, and Phyllis did her whole back in one sitting. We didn’t think we’d ever get the bleeding stopped. The client threatened to sue.”

A new girl was sitting at Cassandra station when she showed up for work the next morning.

Jackson was right. Phyllis did get fired. Mr. Daily did it quietly.

Mr. Daily had put the sign back in the window. He had a passion for hiring homeless people, drifters and folks down on their luck. Score one for Mr. Daily, Cassandra thought. Was it really hurting anyone that he watched the girls shower? Maybe he watched the guys too. Growing up in a small town, that was the sort of thing that got you branded as a pervert, but he did this really great thing of hiring undesirable folks.

Homesick

Cassandra stood in the phone booth with her fingers shaking. She picked up the receiver. Then quickly hung it up. “Let it go.” She let out a long even breath as a way to steady herself.

Suddenly, she couldn’t remember her parents’ phone number. The only number that came to her was Hateful Gut’s. But he would know how to get ahold of her folks. The number rang once before she slammed the receiver back onto its holder. “No. Not him.”

She jumped as someone beat on the glass. “Hey lady,” the man was very drunk and slurring his words. “Get out lady.” As she opened the door, the man tipped his hat. “Gotta call a ride lady.”

He licked his lips, “gotta,” stumbling backwards, “ride.” The phone rang as he stepped inside.

His hand shook picking up the receiver. He spoke into the phone. “Gotta. Need ride.” He burped.Cassandra sat on a nearby bench watching him as she built up her courage to try again. The man all but fell out of the phone booth. Smiled at her; tipped his hat again. He stumbled around. With his back to Cassandra, he peed on the phone booth. A beat cop walked past her then tapped the drunk man on the shoulder. As the drunk man turned, he peed on the officers’ shoes. “You my ride?”

“Oh yeah,” the officer spoke. “Yeah, I’m your ride.”

A cold wind started blowing. It blew a sheet of last month’s news across her shoes. Why couldn’t people throw trash away? The streets were lined with garbage cans. Throwing this away wasn’t difficult. The phone rang, pulling Cassandra from her thoughts. She just stared at the booth while the phone inside rang out five times. Cassandra smiled; it would be too sweet if Hateful Guts was the one trying to call back. “Good, score one for me.”

Shots rang out through the night. “Time to go home,” she said to herself. Passing the booth, the phone started ringing again.

New work stuff

A knock on Cassandra’s door startled her. It was Mr. Daily. She answered the door with a protein shake in her hand. “Good?” he asked, pointing at the shake.

“It’s okay.”

“Just, okay?” Mr. Daily asked.

“I’m not real hungry but I needed something.”

He changed the subject. “Come with me.” He talked as they walked. “This building is an old hotel. Dr. Mac has been transforming it into a salon. How would you like your own workspace?

You did such a great job training our new girl. She’s gentle and kind.”

“Thank you.”

Mr. Daily stopped; Cassandra thought it was two doors down from the big open room they all worked in. He opened a door to a room. The smell told Cassandra it had been freshly painted.

There were no decorations of any kind, it was just a plain white room. “This is going to be your workspace. We’ll get you a new workstation.” He paused. “You can girl it up.”

“Girl it up?”

“Flowers and shit.”She couldn’t contain her laughter. “Thank you, Mr. Daily.”

He twisted his shoe on the carpet, “what’s your favorite flavor?”

“Carmal.” Mr. Daily looked blank. She smiled, “caramel.”

Mr. Daily just giggled.

The penguin was back. Her mind filled with the image of a penguin wearing pink rabbit ears, munching on a chocolate egg, with a ribbon of caramel hanging from its mouth. It was all she could do not to laugh. She never wanted Mr. Daily to think she was making fun of him, but he always conjured up that penguin image.

She did ‘girl up’ the new workspace, a little. Mr. Daily allowed her to look for things that might be nicer from the empty rooms of the hotel. Lighter curtains, a couple small end tables, a fake tree for the corner of the room. She even found a compact disc player with a bunch of classical compact discs; perfect.

Her first client for her new space arrived with Jackson in tow. It was Tantrum Man. He was drinking something. “Have you tried these?” Tantrum Man asked just before he sucked at the straw, forcing pink liquid up. “This is great.”

She and Jackson exchanged glances. Both admitted they had not tried the drink. “This might be the best thing Dr. Mac has done.” Tantrum Man drew more pink liquid up the straw.

More and more of Cassandra’s clients came in drinking Dr. Mac’s new drinks. Cassandra even saw Jackson drinking them. One day he held the drink in his hand up high so she could see it. It was in a clear cup. From the bottom up, it was white. About an inch from the bottom was a band of brown, more white, then a small pink band, then more white. The top was brown with whipped topping and a cherry. “This one is called the ‘Cassandra!”’ He laughed.

Cassandra didn’t say a word. She suddenly felt naked.

Jackson slurped at the drink. “I taste vanilla and caramel. Delicious!” He smacked his lips.

Her client had a different drink, the pink one. “It’s the ‘Millie’,” her client reported. “It’s hot strawberry. It’s a sweet heat. I like it.”

Jackson locked eyes with Cassandra. “The ‘Cassandra’ is my favorite.”

She moved to start setting her client up. “I’m honored.”That evening Cassandra was surprised to find a bouquet of red roses in the floor outside her bedroom door. The card read, “Thank you. Dr. Mac.”